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Identifiying with Autumnal Aspen Outside Spearfish Canyon

Aspen trees along a trail in the Big Hill Trail System

What new can be said about the loss of new-ness? "Mortality salience" is how some academics term the fear of dying. I encountered the term when the professor for a course I took provided a stock research paper that dealt with that weighty yet uncontroversial topic.

There was something instructive about that — literally of course, but also because you're checking a document about the Universal Human Dilemma to learn how to cite correctly in your paper on "How Hot Wheels Toys Train Boys to be Automobile Consumers" — then you throw it away, because the UHD is kind of throwaway in our culture, because by the time most people face it, they only have (tops) one more car buy left in them.

Mortality salience festers in the Fall breeze and warm flickers of color. John Carpenter spread bags of fake painted leaves around the lawns of "Haddonfield" when filming "Halloween." Leafy Haddonfield imposed suburban order on chthonian nature with its gridwork of shady lanes. A harmonious symmetry between opposing forces was apparent. The leaves on the trees were green. The babysitters were getting busy. But the leaves on the ground had gone golden and a masked psychopath whose name rhymed with "cycle" lurked in the bushes.

At least since the Ecclesiasticist or the Byrds we've been conflating individual and civilizational with seasonal cycles — hence, amber flickering through the aspen conjures feelings maybe only Garth Brooks could formerly conjure.

Seasons change. Annuals expire. Woodpeckers cannot find suet. Squirrels lose their stash. People get old. Social contracts, however understood by different clusters of contractees, expire. Sometimes that happens when our kids are young, which might not work out for them.

In the early 2000's, I was preparing to report to one of the Proletarian Cull Zones. I was even more ignorant then and from a Judeo-Christian background. So I something-like-prayed that if I went out I'd be the "blood on the door" for our familial up-and-comers. (I didn't have kids yet but my parents had grandkids). Whether God passively noted my thoughts or not I don't know, but I have learned that — for the human majority — last year's harvest never satisfies the reaper.

Yet something about the season warms us up like a knit sweater or a shot of Beam.

Where to go in the Hills? So most locals are aware of Spearfish Canyon, which deserves its autumn reputation.

Here are a few alternative spots to soak up all that bittersweet mortality salience.

Aspen along a trail in the Norris Peak area.

Shanks Quarry/Norris Peak

The Shanks Quarry Trailhead is known for ATV and motorbike trails. There is also a system of maintained non-motorized trails here as well, complete with "No Motor Vehicle" signage. Forest Service sources have informed your SDPB Outdoors Correspondent that a plan will soon be released for making this trail system more official.

Meanwhile, these trails currently exist and meander through a large aspen grove. Somebody has nailed animal bones to several trees, which for some may amp up the morbidity a little much.

The aspen grove is not as large as Utah's Pando, but it quakes just the same. (My name for this colony is Dando, after the Lemonheads' leader, also known for looks and evincing emotions). Closer to the ground, woodbine, pinedrops and even poison ivy add fiery reds to the mix.

About a mile past the trailhead on the 44, Forest Service Road 173 meets up with more foot trails, at least a couple of which lead to the top of Norris Peak, where you'll find the foundation of a former lookout tower and aerial views of Johnson Siding. You'll also catch glimpses of nearby Thrall Mountain with its impressive talus slide.

Big Hill Trail System

Near Spearfish on the Tinton Road, the Big Hill Trails offer a system divided into separate routes for cyclists, snowshoers/hikers and nordic skiers. There are several loops of varying lengths. The closer A and B loops are completely surrounded by aspen.

This is relatively even country, not very rocky and does not lead to peaks. The name reminds me of "Big State," the fictional college the Ray Allen character picks to play ball for in Spike Lee's "He Got Game." If "Big State" nailed the duplicable teenage frenzy of college sports, "Big Hill" captures the topographical vanilla-tude of this country. The aspen colony is the star. In autumn, you can stride through tunnels of gold Tinton miners could only have dreamed of.

Fort Meade Recreational Area

Bur oak are not as showy as aspen, but there is something quintessentially autumnal about yellow and copper oak leaves and falling acorns. Oaks proliferate along the Centennial Trail — near the Alkali Trailhead, in the Fort Meade Recreational Area — as it approaches its Northern terminus at Bear Butte. Occasional American Elms add splashes of more brilliant yellows.